Cumin: Book 1

Just Afraid

I twisted the knitted blanket between my fingers. "You okay?"

"Perfectly fine." He turned a page. "Albeit annoyed."

I clenched the blanket. "Well, I'm sorry, but it's not like I enjoy throwing up or holding disfigured, burned up babies—"

The book snapped closed again. "What did you say?"

I frowned. "I don't like throwing up?"

"No, about holding a burnt baby."

"Uh, I don't enjoy holding disfigured, burned up babies? Though I don't know if it was burned up...I couldn't even really call it a baby." I shuddered and begun efforts to beat the memory from my mind.

Eyebrows furrowed in thought, he stood and came over to sit on my bedside. Prickles flew up my skin at his proximity, and close to exploded when he reached out to pull aside the flimsy hospital gown to get a better look at the bruises.

"Is this from it?"

Why oh why did his fingertips have to brush my skin like that, why?! And why did I suddenly want them to go lower and -"I-it sort of, um, twisted up its hands there, though they didn't have any, uh, fingers...could you back off?"

The corner of his mouth lifted into the tiniest of smirks. "Oh please, this is on a completely professional base." He poked one of the bruises. "No fingers, that would explain the shape. Neither I nor the doctor could make head or tails of them, but since you said you held some sort of apparition-"

I slapped away his hand harder than I meant to, and he stared.

"Don't touch me. Please."

His ocean blue eyes studied mine. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm feeling like my personal space is being invaded." Heat ran up to my face as I pushed out what I thought I needed to. "Rejecting someone doesn't make said feelings go away on demand, it takes time, and getting so close doesn't help. Don't—don't hug me or touch me or—just go away."

I was mortified. Halfway through speaking I had changed my mind. All that didn't need to be said. He really had been just observing the bruises on a professional level, and just because they were on the top of my breasts didn't mean anything. It wasn't like he saw anything or thought I was attractive.

He withdrew his hand. "You're mistaken."

Brain flop. "Eh?"

"Forget it," he stood up. "I'll go sign your papers. There's a change of clothes on the table for you."

"No, hold on, what do you mean I'm mistaken? You think I'm mistaken for being uncomfortable?" Idiot, of course that's what he meant.

But he just gave me one of his haughty, handsome looks to the side. "Just how idiotic are you, Mai? Just because I look like him doesn't mean I am him, so you have no reason to be uncomfortable."

I blanched. "Him?" Then like an anvil to the face- "Aw hell, you think I—" Fury burst in like lightning. "You think I can't tell the difference between your dead brother and you?" I wanted to throw something at him. Heck, I wanted to throw him. "Just how shallow do you think I am!? That's it, get out, I've had enough of your royal heartlessness, just get out!"

And he did. It was another one of Naru's defaults, you see: the silent, cool retreat, often with the excuse of needing to get to work or escape the nauseating stench of stupid in the room.

Why did I like this guy?

Because he wasn't always a jerk, that much was true. Despite the outward appearance of aloof arrogance and coldness, Naru was surprisingly compassionate and concerned about the wellbeing of his friends and others. Not that he'd ever admit to it.